


How Sweet The Sound

by GnomeIgnominious



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: AU, AU from Out of Sight Out of Mind, Blind Character, Blindness, Episode: s05e03 Out of Sight Out of Mind, Gen, Major Character Injury, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-01-17 09:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12362463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GnomeIgnominious/pseuds/GnomeIgnominious
Summary: All Hawkeye could remember from the accident was that it was the brightest light he'd ever seen.





	1. Chapter 1

All Hawkeye could remember from the accident was that it had been the brightest light he'd ever seen. 

It had been a week since the gas heater had blown up in front of him and the burns on his face were starting to itch under the gauze as they healed. He was where he was supposed to be for once; sat in bed in Post-Op as he waited for Major Overman to arrive from the 121st Evac. The opthalmologist had been due half an hour ago, to check up on Hawkeye's condition and hopefully remove the bandages for good. BJ, Colonel Potter and the rest of his friends from the camp were hovering awkwardly around the end of the bed, as anxious as he was to find out if his eyes were ok.

Hawkeye heard the door on the left open and someone come in. Colonel Potter greeted the new arrival in his usual warm manner.

"Major Overman, thanks for stopping by. Hawkeye's been dying to see you."

Overman gave a small chuckle and Hawkeye heard him approaching the bed.

"Sorry I was late, Hawkeye. I couldn't get a chopper."

"That's all right. I was just sitting around listening to myself sweat." Hawkeye could never resist a joke, especially when he was feeling under stress. He felt Major Overman begin to unwrap the bandages around his face.

"Now, Hawkeye, shade your eyes. Now open them slowly. Well?"

But Hawkeye had been able to tell the answer before he had even opened his eyes. He had been expecting to be able to at least detect some light through his eyelids before he opened them, but the world was still completely black. He slowly opened his eyes, every fibre of his being wishing desperately, praying even, for a glimmer a light to show through, but there was nothing.

His eyes fully open, he tilted his head upwards towards Overman and shook his head.

"I can't see."

From somewhere near the end of the bed, he heard Father Mulcahy whisper "Oh, my son," followed by some hushed Latin. 

"Nothing at all?" Overman queried.

"No." Hawkeye's voice was hollow.

"Ok. I'm going to shine a light in your eyes. Let me know if it hurts or if you see anything."

Hawkeye felt Overman's hand on chin, steadying his head.

"Look up to the ceiling for me. And down please. Ok."

Overman took his hand away and Hawkeye heard him sigh quietly.

"Hawkeye, I'm very sorry, but it does seem like the damage to your eyes is permanent. When I examined you last week I could see that the retinas had been badly burned by the flash from the gas heater, but I had hoped that with rest they would begin to heal. However, since then, your corneas have clouded which is a sign that the retinal scarring is not going to improve. I don't think you noticed either, but the mobility of your right eye is very limited-- when I asked to you to look down a moment ago your eye stayed looking upward."

Hawkeye had nothing to say. It was Colonel Potter who broke the silence.

"So, what happens now, Major? Is there anything we can do?"

"It's time to start the medical discharge process, Colonel. Hawkeye, you may want to get in touch with your next of kin before the Army does. Often such news is easier for your family to hear from you than from the form letter the Army sends out. You'll be transferred to Tokyo via the 121st within the next couple of days and from there you'll be flown stateside. Your case will be referred as Group 1 priority to your local VA medical center."

Hawkeye nodded, still shocked at the diagnosis, but appreciated that Overman had done all he could. "Thanks, Major." He held out his hand and Overman shook it.

"Good luck, Hawkeye. I'll see you again at the 121st. I'll get your travel orders through to you tomorrow."

Hawkeye listened to Overman leave, followed by the slow filtering out of the other people in the room. News travelled faster at the 4077 than a rat escaping from the mess tent and he knew that very soon everyone would have heard that he was permanently blind. 

"Pierce." Hawkeye jumped slightly at Colonel Potter's voice in his ear. 

"Sorry, son, didn't mean to startle you. If you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know. I think Overman had a good idea about writing to your folks. Would you like Hunnicut to help you with that?"

"Yeah. Let's get it over with. You there, Beej?"

"Right here. You wanna write it now, Hawk?" BJ's voice came from the end of the bed.

"Yeah, come and sit next to me."

Hawkeye heard Potter's footsteps moving away and felt the bed dip as BJ sat down. BJ put his arm around Hawkeye's shoulders and gave him a comforting half-hug. 

"You ok?"

"I... I don't know." Hawkeye paused. "Remember what I said to you the other day, about the rainstorm and barbecued steaks and all that? I still appreciate that this has opened up a new world for me. But I don't think I was prepared that the old one was gonna be closed off forever." He felt hot tears on his cheeks and brushed them away angrily. "Let's face it, I'm never going to practice medicine again."

"Maybe not," BJ said. "But there's plenty of other things you can do. Teaching, for instance."

"That's one other thing. You said plenty."

"Well, I'm working on it. Let's get started on this letter and I'll keep thinking."

"One more thing, Beej." Hawkeye hesitated and gestured towards his face. "How bad is the scarring?" 

"You won't be winning any beauty contests," BJ said, and Hawkeye could hear the smile in his voice. "But then again, you wouldn't have before the accident either."

"Hey! C'mon, be serious."

"It's quite bad, Hawk." BJ's voice was a little quieter now. "The burn scars on your cheeks and nose will probably heal up pretty well. But your eyes... put it this way, people are going to know you're blind."

"Right." Hawkeye sighed. "Ok, let's get this letter started."

"Ready when you are."

"Dear Dad. As you can probably tell, I'm not writing this letter. Instead, you're reading BJ's handwriting-- he's my scribe for the time being. If you're wondering why I need someone to write for me, well, I have good news and bad news.

"The good news is that I'm coming home. I can't say exactly when, but I'll be in Tokyo in about a week, so you might even get to see me before Christmas.

"The bad news is that I'm coming home because I've been injured. I was fixing a gas heater and the thing blew up in my face. I got pretty badly burned-- eyes included. At the moment I am completely blind and the opthalmologist that's been treating me over here thinks it's going to be permanent.

"Please try not to worry about me Dad, and don't call or write to the 4077th, because by the time you get this I'll be in Tokyo. You'll get a letter from the Army soon telling you my stateside arrival date. 

"I can't wait to get out of Korea and home to Crabapple Cove. I can almost smell the sea air already. 

"Hope you're ok and please, please don't worry about me. See you soon (so to speak).

"All my love, Hawkeye."

"Sounds good. Want me to read it back to you?"

"No, no-- wait, add a P.S.: P.S. Any chance you can flick through Last of the Mohicans and pick a new nickname for me?"

"Really, Hawk?"

"My dad's got a good sense of humor. And he'll know I'm ok if I'm making a joke."

-0- 

The next few days passed quickly as Hawkeye packed up his belongings from the Swamp and left BJ strict instructions detailing how to keep the still working. On his last morning, Radar led him around the compound so he could say goodbye to everyone. Eventually, the bus used to transport non-critical patients arrived and Hawkeye was helped on board. BJ got on with him and knelt down next to Hawkeye's seat.

"Take care of yourself Hawk. I'll come and visit you in Maine as soon as I get out of here."

"Thanks Beej. And I should be the one telling you to take care of yourself. No landmines in Crabapple Cove, y'know."

BJ smiled and embraced Hawkeye. Returning the hug, Hawkeye heard him sniff loudly.

"Don't cry on me, Beej, I've had enough of that from Hot Lips this week."

"'M not crying," BJ mumbled into Hawkeye's shoulder.

"Oh sure." Hwakeye pulled back from the hug and reached out gently, his fingers brushing over BJ's forehead and down to his cheek, feeling the wetness there. "Liar."

BJ reached up and took Hawkeye's hand in his and squeezed it tight. "I'm gonna miss you."

The bus engine rattled into to life and BJ let go of Hawkeye's hand. Hawkeye heard his footsteps retreating down the aisle of the bus, followed by the mechanical thud of the doors closing. As the bus pulled away, he raised a hand in the direction of the camp, his sightless eyes denying him a final glimpse of the 4077th and his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Chapter 1 of a planned multi-chapter fic. I don't have the best record of completing these, but I have a rough idea of what scenes I'm going to include in this one.
> 
> I know very little about 1950s USA veteran's medical treatment so please bear with me if there any errors. I'm also no expert on blindness-- please let me know if I can improve.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawkeye arrived at the 121st that night only to be turned around almost immediately and bussed to the airstrip, where a plane was waiting to fly him and the other patients from the 4077th out to Tokyo. Four hours later and he was finally in bed on the ward at Tokyo General. The nurse had helped him undress and get comfortable, but she hadn't mentioned if there were any other patients in the vicinity he could talk to. If he needed anything, he was to raise his hand and wait for the nurse to come over.

He decided to chance sounding a bit silly and cleared his throat.

"Anyone there?"

Hawkeye heard someone shifting in the bed to his right.

"Hey. New arrival?" the other man asked.

"Yep, " he replied. "I'm Hawkeye Pierce, what's your name?"

"Jacob Goldberg. Shake hands?"

Hawkeye reached out towards the other man's voice and after a slight fumble, they found each other's hands and shook.

"Nice to meet you," Goldberg continued. "What brings you to here?"

"Gas heater blew up in my face. You?"

"Rifle backfired. I'm going in for more surgery tomorrow. Doc reckons they can save my right eye."

"They wouldn't say that if they didn't believe it," Hawkeye said with conviction. "What's your profession?"

"I'm at college studying mathematics. I guess I'll be able to carry on with one eye. What about you- a plumber, I'm guessing, if you were fixing a heater?"

Hawkeye chuckled wryly. "Nope. I was a surgeon at a MASH unit, but I guess I'm going to become a teacher or something now. I might be good, but I don't fancy my chances at blind surgery."

"Man, that sucks. I'm sorry."

The silence lingered for a moment.

"Is your name really Hawkeye?"

"No, that's my nickname. From Last of the Mohicans. My real name's Ben, but only my mother called me that. Up until now, anyway."

"I think you should stick with it. It'd be funny to throw people off."

Hawkeye smiled. Maybe the kid was right. It would probably cheer him up. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the bed.

"Ok, you two, enough chit chat, time get some sleep." It was one of the nurses, her voice gentle. "Corporal Goldberg, you need to rest before your surgery tomorrow. And Captain Pierce, it's best if you try and stick to a regular pattern of sleep, as it can be difficult for your body to maintain your sleep cycle without the usual external cues."

Hawkeye nodded and lay down in bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin. The comfort of a real mattress and sheets allowed him to drift off to sleep easily. He slept deeply and his dreams were filled with sound and color.


	3. Chapter 3

Hawkeye spent the next few days being ferried backwards and forwards between specialists looking at his eyes, the mess hall (which, to his delight, served real, actual food) and the ward, where he could chat with other patients, listen to records or the radio, and sometimes the nurses would read to them or put on a movie and describe the action on the screen. Four days into his stay Jacob Goldberg got the go ahead to ship stateside, the vision in his right eye successfully restored. The night before he left, they had a party the ward, with a special going home cake that (Goldberg told Hawkeye) had been made in the shape of an eyeball.

At the end of that week, Hawkeye got his own travel orders. The two opthalmologists who'd been treating him had agreed that there was nothing more they could do for his sight and that he would be blind for the rest of his life. They explained the discharge procedure and what would happen once he got home, and strongly encouraged him to make an appointment to get a seeing-eye dog. In the meantime, Hawkeye was given a thin white cane and taught how to use it to navigate around a room and outside on the street. The prospect of going anywhere alone was extremely daunting, and Hawkeye had gripped the orderly's arm tightly as he had walked down the street and back, using the cane to tap along the edge of the sidewalk.

His father had been notified of his travel plans and would be waiting for him at Bangor International Airport when he landed. Hawkeye was flying from Tokyo to San Francisco and from San Francisco to Maine. He had been assigned a corporal named Edmonton who would accompany him and help him navigate the airports. Hawkeye felt strangely melancholy about getting home but not being able to see his father. He had spent the better part of half an hour trying to visualise his father's face, fixing it in his mind before the images faded forever.

He was helped to change into his freshly cleaned and pressed Class As and finally the time came for him to board the bus to the airport. Edmonton was by his side.

"What's the weather like, corporal?" Hawkeye asked.

"Nice and clear sir. Should be a good flight."

Edmonton's words rang true, and Hawkeye managed to sleep for most of the ten hour flight. Even with his best efforts, not being able to see when it was getting light or dark outside had meant that he was either sleeping far too much or too little, and feeling constantly jet-lagged as a consequence.

It was early morning when they touched down in San Francisco and the jolt of the plane's wheels hitting the runway startled Hawkeye awake. He was beginning to get used to the odd sensation of opening his eyes and not seeing anything. He yawned and rubbed his face, glad that he'd turned down the doctors' suggestion that he start wearing dark glasses. He'd tried it for a day and kept forgetting they were there, and knocked or jolted them every time he'd put a hand to his face. He couldn't think of any medical reason for him to wear them-- after all, he had no vision left to protect-- and eventually realised that he had been told to wear them to shield other people from what his eyes must look like. After that, he'd shoved them down inside his duffel bag, where they'd stayed ever since. 

He stayed put in his seat and listened to the sounds of the other passengers beginning to disembark.

"Ok, sir, we can get off the plane now."

Hawkeye stood up and Edmonton handed him his cane.

"You've got my seat next to yours, sir, then if you turn right into the aisle and walk about ten paces you'll have the the door of the aircraft on your left. There's nobody ahead of us, so you've got a clear run at it. I'll be right behind you."

Hawkeye was beginning to appreciate Edmonton's no-nonsense attitude and the fact that he was letting Hawkeye have a bit of independence. He carefully felt his way into the aisle and used his cane to judge the width of the gap between the seats. He walked forward slowly, counting exactly ten paces when his cane swept left into empty space. 

"Welcome home, Captain Pierce." One of the stewardesses was standing by the door. She put a hand under his elbow to help him out of the doorway. Edmonton then took his arm on the other side.

"Flight of steps down to the ground, sir. Looks to be about fifteen steps. I'll tell you when we hit the bottom. Ready?"

Hawkeye nodded and felt his way to the top step with his cane. He could hear the wind whistling around the plane behind him and the ring of the other passengers' feet on the metal steps.

"Off we go, then." Edmonton stayed closed to his side as they navigated the steps. "One more to go and you're back on American soil, sir."

Hawkeye stepped down on to the tarmac, his stiff dress shoes creaking slightly and his heart full. He'd made it home. He just wished he could have brought his sight with him.


	4. Chapter 4

The wind whipping across the flat expanse of the airport taxiway was freezing and Hawkeye was glad of the thick serge of his Class A jacket on the walk from the plane to the terminal building. He could feel the sun on his face as it occasionally broke through the clouds and the intermittent roar of planes taking off along the runway behind him made his skin crawl. He was glad when the ground under his cane switched from tarmac to hard linoleum, signalling that they'd entered the terminal. 

Their flight out of Japan had been a military charter, so the majority of passengers were either injured personnel travelling home like Hawkeye, or other diplomatic, military or press people. Now, however, for the first time in nearly two years, Hawkeye was in an entirely civilian space. He could tell people were looking at him as Edmonton led him towards the security gates and he was grateful that they had special dispensation to jump the queues so they had time to catch the connecting civilian flight to Maine.

Edmonton had their travel papers ready and presented them to the guard. Hawkeye heard the rubber stamp thud twice before a brief "Welcome back, gentlemen," was grunted in their direction. "Your connecting flight will depart from Gate 3, straight ahead then to your left."

"Thanks," Hawkeye said. He wondered briefly what the guard looked like. His voice sounded old and tired. Maybe he was sick of welcoming damaged young men home from countries they never wanted to visit. Hawkeye's fingers tightened around his cane as Edmonton touched his elbow.

"This way, sir." They set off towards the departure gates, Hawkeye trying to be more confident as he walked, but they had been only moving for about thirty seconds when Hawkeye's cane hit something, just as Edmonton grabbed his arm and said "Sir!". Hawkeye stopped, but whoever he had tapped with the cane didn't, as he felt them crash into him a moment later.

"Hey!" It was another man's voice. "Can't you watch where you're going?"

Hawkeye heard himself say "No, actually," before he had time to mould the words into something less sarcastic, but it seemed the stranger had cottoned on, as he began to verbally backpedal.

"Oh, I am _so_ sorry." His tone was a little ingratiating. "I was in such a rush. Forgive me, corporal. It's such good work you're doing, your country is proud of you."

" _Corporal?_ " This ticked Hawkeye off more than the man walking in to him. "You can speak to _me_ you know, I'm blind, not mentally deficient!"

"Ah! Of course, of course. I just... well, have a nice day, the both of you!" This last bit was slightly shouted back towards them as the man hurried away.

"Boy, what a creep!" Hawkeye fumed as they resumed walking. Edmonton chuckled.

"You should have seen his face, sir. Bright red then white as a sheet. Very nicely done."

They reached their gate without further incident and Edmonton got Hawkeye settled on a bench before going off in search of breakfast. Hawkeye was still a bit jangly about being left alone, particularly in a very busy and unfamiliar place. He found himself wishing he had the duck whistle that Klinger had given him, but it was somewhere in his footlocker which had already been shipped home. Klinger had given him that the day after the accident. Nearly a month had passed now. He had been looking forward to getting home for so long, but now the time had come he was truly dreading it. Seeing his Dad again, but _not_ seeing him. Going home to Crabapple Cove, but not seeing the trees, the snow, the beach, the sea. Not seeing the creaky old house with its funny mismatched furniture that his dad had collected over the years. Not seeing his old bedroom, with his childhood books and the fuzzy patchwork quilt that his mom knitted when he was eight.

It was almost too horrible to bear. Hawkeye shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on his surroundings. The bench he was sitting on was comfortable despite its basic wooden construction and he could hear someone sitting relatively close, turning the pages of a newspaper. He could smell the faint aroma of coffee over the general bland atmosphere of the airport and his stomach growled. He wished Edmonton would hurry up with breakfast. 

A child's voice close by broke into his thoughts.

"Mommy, why's that man staring at me?"

"Which man?" It was a woman's voice, slightly distracted. Hawkeye heard the newspaper being folded up and the bench moved slightly.

"There," the little girl said pointedly and Hawkeye realised she was talking about him. He quickly closed his eyes and turned his head away. At least the white cane was a dead giveaway for an adult.

"Gee, I'm sorry," the woman said, moving a little closer to him. "She's just a bit nosy." As if to prove her point, the girl butted in: "Why have you shut your eyes, mister?"

"Judith!" the woman admonished. "I'm so sorry--"

"No, it's ok." Hawkeye cut her off, turning his head back toward them and opening his eyes a little. "What's your name?"

"I'm Mary," the woman replied. From her tone Hawkeye guessed that she was very deliberately trying to converse normally. He resigned himself to the fact that conversations like this were going to be a regular fixture in his life from now on, and he decided to try and put the woman and her daughter at ease.

"I'm Hawkeye," Hawkeye said, and winked cheekily. "Judith, I'm sorry you thought I was staring at you. The truth is, I can't stare at anyone. You want to come a bit closer?"

There was a brief silence before Mary spoke. "Judith, you have to answer out loud, honey, he can't see you nod."

"Yes," Judith said quietly, and then: "You can't see?"

Hawkeye beckoned her closer. 

"Take a look at my eyes." He opened them a bit wider, feeling the burned skin pull across his cheeks. "They look different to yours and your mother's, right? That's because they don't work properly anymore. So I use this instead," he tapped his cane on the floor, "so I can feel where I'm going."

"Oh." Hawkeye could practially hear the little girl's brain working hard to absorb this new information. "Will they get better? Your eyes?"

Hawkeye felt a little jolt inside himself. The childish voice echoed his own desperate wish in the weeks after the accident. He sighed but gave a small smile, for Mary and Judith's sake.

"No, but it's ok, because it means I'm getting real good at hearing and smelling things." To prove his point, Hawkeye waggled his ears and gave a big overexaggerated sniff, which made Judith giggle. He then paused and sniffed for real, as he heard footsteps approaching. He could already recognise Edmonton's light, military step.

"Bagels?" 

"Got it in one, sir. Sorry I took so long, the line was about a quarter mile and everyone was ordering 100 different things each."

"It's ok. I was making friends with Mary and Judith here." Hawkeye gestured in their direction.

"Nice to meet you, miss, ma'am. Anything I can get for you?"

"Oh, that's very kind, but no thank you, we've already eaten," Mary replied.

Edmonton handed Hawkeye his breakfast and sat down on his other side. Hawkeye ate in contented silence as Edmonton continued the conversation with Mary, happy to absorb the sounds of the airport around him and enjoy his breakfast. His thoughts drifted towards BJ and the others. It would be about 11pm in Korea. Maybe they were at the O Club, or Rosie's. 

Maybe they were in OR. 

Finishing the remains of the bagel, Hawkeye began to amuse himself with something that he had come to call Pierce's Dilemma: would he rather be in his current situation, but blind, or back in Korea where he could see?

He thought about the 4077th and the mud, the flies, the blood. He pinched the rough material of his jacket cuff between finger and thumb and tried very hard to remember the exact shade of olive drab and how the light looked glinting off the gold buttons. 

He wondered what color Mary's eyes were and whether she was beautiful. 

He decided that maybe that didn't matter at all.

Edmonton tapped him on the arm. 

"Gate's opening, Captain."

Hawkeye stood up with him and tapped his cane again, turning back in Mary and Judith's direction. 

"Judith, if you think hearing and smelling aren't that great, at least you can get priority boarding with one of these things. Nice to meet you, girls."

"Bye, Mister Hawkeye," Judith said shyly.

Hawkeye waved and headed out towards the plane, Edmonton by his side. 

Next stop: Bangor, Maine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far. Comments and constructive criticism are love (hint hint)!


	5. Chapter 5

Hawkeye settled into his seat on the small twin prop plane. The flight to Bangor from San Francisco was almost as long as the flight from Tokyo back to the States had been. It would be dark by the time they landed, Hawkeye thought. As the plane began to taxi to the runway for take-off, he thought about what his father would be doing at that moment. It was a Friday, so he'd be at work, finishing up the morning's appointments. He would probably finish slightly early to make the hour and a half drive from Crabapple Cove to the airport that evening. As the plane accelerated and lurched into the sky, Hawk's stomach lurched with it. In about six hours' time he'd be back in Maine. He'd be home.

-0- 

Hawkeye dozed on and off during the flight, only fully waking up when the pilot informed them over the cabin address that they were about half an hour from landing and preparing to make their final approach.

"Here we go, sir." Edmonton's voice came from his left hand side. "Looking forward to getting home?"

"You bet," Hawkeye replied softly. "And you can quit with the sirs now. My discharge went active when we got our papers stamped in San Franciso. Call me Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye." Edmonton tested the name out. "I'm Robert."

"Where's home for you, Robert?"

"Bridgeport, Conneticut."

"Are you heading there once you've dropped me off?"

"No, I've got to fly straight back to Tokyo. I never know if I'm coming or going with this job. My record is four trips to Korea and back in a week."

Hawkeye whistled.

"Yeah, I know, it's a lot. But it's a good job, as Army jobs go. The closest I've had to get to the front is the 516th Evac hospital after it was bombed out last year. They needed all the help they could get."

Hawkeye nodded. Korea was already beginning to feel like a distant memory as the anticipation of meeting his father loomed large in his mind. Hawkeye had no way of telling the time and it felt like an eternity before the plane finally touched down and they could disembark.

"Watch your step on the tarmac, Hawkeye, it's a little icy." Edmonton's voice was muffled through his scarf, pulled up against the cold evening air outside the plane. 

Hawkeye could feel the thin layer of snow and ice crunching under his dress shoes as they headed into the welcome warmth of the terminal building. They had no priority here, and waited in line with the other passengers from their flight to collect their baggage. 

"Ok, I've got your duffle bag. You want me to carry it for you?"

"No, I got it." Hawkeye held out his hand and took the bag from Edmonton and hefted it over his shoulder, cane still secure in his other hand. Bangor was a small airport and he knew it was only a short walk before they would be out into the arrivals lounge where his father would be waiting.

"Over to the right now, Hawkeye," Edmonton said, touching Hawkeye's elbow to let him know he was still there. "Who's coming to meet you?"

"Just my dad."

"How will I recognise him?"

"He looks like me, but thirty years older. Tall, grey hair. Probably wearing an old brown jacket that's about the same age as me and just as worn out."

"Got it. Right, we're going to turn a corner now, and then we're through to arrivals. I'll see if I can spot him."

There was a pause and they slowed to a stop as Edmonton scanned the crowds. Hawkeye grew more nervous, only just keeping a lid on the conflict between wanting to be home and his frustration and grief at not being able to see it.

"Alright, I see him. He's heading towards us. You ready?"

-0- 

Daniel Pierce had spent a distracted day at work, one eye constantly on the clock as it had been ever since he'd received the letter from Hawkeye two and a half weeks ago. His son, his beautiful, wonderful son was coming home from Korea. But his beautiful, wonderful son had been injured. Blinded in what was simply a stupid accident, as far as Daniel could tell. Why on earth had Hawkeye been fixing a gas heater? It was absurd and horrible.

He'd been waiting for more news every day since Hawkeye's letter had arrived and he'd received three from the Army; one bland form letter informing him that his son, Captain B.F. Pierce of the 4077th MASH, had been injured in the line of duty and would be medically discharged forthwith; another a few days later telling him the date and time of Hawkeye's arrival back on American soil; and finally, a letter from Hawkeye's commanding officer, one Colonel S. Potter. That, out of all of them, had been the hardest to read.

Colonel Potter had explained the accident and how he and the other doctors at the 4077th had worked hard to look after Hawkeye in the immediate aftermath. He also mentioned how invaluable Hawkeye had been to the unit as surgeon and as a friend to many people and how much he would be missed. The colonel's letter had finished with him wishing Hawkeye and his father well, and letting him know that his support and advice was available to them both whenever they needed it.

Along with the letters, Daniel had taken delivery of Hawkeye's footlocker, which had arrived two days previously. It was currently sat at the bottom of the stairs at Daniel's home in Crabapple Cove, waiting for his son to get home too.

It was finally time to close up the practice for the afternoon. On the way out, his secretary Agnes stopped him and handed him a large round cake tin.

"Could you give these cookies to Hawkeye for me, Daniel, as a welcome home gift? They always were his favourite." Agnes was smiling, but there were tears in her eyes. Most people in Crabapple Cove already knew why Daniel's son was coming home from Korea.

"Thanks, Agnes." Daniel bent and kissed her on the cheek before getting into his car. He placed the cake tin on the passenger seat and raised a hand in farewell as he headed for the highway.

The drive was over quickly and Daniel found himself in the arrivals lounge of Bangor airport with plenty of time to spare. He watched the clock tick round and the flights on the board move up as each plane landed. His eyes were fixed on the San Francisco flight. It finally reached the top of the board and Daniel got up and began to pace, unable to keep himself still any longer. Only a few more minutes and he would have Hawkeye safely back home.

The next wave of passengers began to spill out from the gates and Daniel scanned their faces hungrily. Towards the back, two flashes of dark green caught his eye. Yes, two men in uniform, one tall, one a little shorter. The shorter man had a hand on the other's arm, leading him safely through the throng. The tall man had a duffel bag slung over one sholder and held a white cane loosely in his other hand.

Hawkeye.

Daniel couldn't wait any more. He pushed his way through the crowd towards his son. Hawkeye and the younger man with him, a corporal, Daniel saw, had stopped. The corporal was obviously searching for Daniel and as Daniel approached, he made eye contact with him and smiled. He said something to Hawkeye, who nodded and raised his head slightly.

Finally Daniel reached him, and the corporal stepped aside as Daniel enveloped Hawkeye in a hug that had been waiting nearly two years to be delivered.

"I am _so_ glad to see you," Daniel whispered fiercely in his son's ear.

Hawkeye smiled into his dad's shoulder, returning the hug just as tightly. He breathed in deeply, smelling the slightly antiseptic tang his dad had carried from the practice offices combined with a dusty scent from his clothes. Hawkeye felt the smooth, worn material under his fingers and his smile turned to a grin as he recognised his father's old brown jacket. They stood there together for a minute, the crowds flowing around them, before Daniel pulled back.

"Let me have a look at you. _Oy gevalt_." Daniel took in his son's face for the first time. Hawkeye's once clear blue eyes were now clouded and milky, the skin across his cheeks and nose still pink from the flash burns. His eyelashes were gone and his eyebrows were clearly just beginning to grow back in. His left eye was looking somewhere over Daniel's shoulder, while the right was pointing slightly upward and away.

"C'mon, Dad, it's not that bad." Hawkeye's smile had faded a little.

Daniel realised his son was keeping something of a brave face on for him, and resolved to do the same, at least until they were home. He clapped Hawkeye on the shoulder.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Ben?"

Hawkeye looked non-plussed for a moment, before he realised.

"Oh right. Dad, this is Corporal Edmonton. Robert, this is my father, Daniel Pierce."

The two men shook.

"Thanks for getting him home safely, corporal."

"Not a problem, sir. Good luck, Hawkeye."

Hawkeye raised his right hand in salute, which Edmonton returned, before turning and heading back to the check-in desk for his return flight to San Francisco.

"Come on then, Ben, let's get going."

"Dad, it's ok to call me Hawkeye, you know."

Daniel bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Hawkeye. I wasn't sure if you'd still want me to use it."

"Are you kidding? It's hilarious." Daniel could see his son was trying to stay light hearted, and he admired his efforts, but wondered how long Hawkeye's cheerful pretence could last. He could only imagine the turmoil he must be feeling, to be out of Korea, back with his father, but unable to see.

He took Hawkeye's arm the way Edmonton had and stepped forward slowly, leading his son towards the exit. "Home?"

Hawkeye nodded, and kept his cane ready as his father haltingly guided him to the car. "Home."


	6. Chapter 6

Daniel helped his son into the passenger seat of the old green Studebaker and handed him the cookie tin, before getting into the driver's seat and pulling out of the airport parking lot. It wasn't until they were out onto the highway that Daniel realised Hawkeye hadn't opened the tin.

"Those are for you, Hawk," he said gently. "From Agnes. A welcome home gift."

Hawkeye said nothing, but slowly pulled off the lid and stuck his hand inside. He picked a cookie and sniffed it carefully before taking a bite. Daniel watched him eat out of the corner of his eye, Hawkeye chewing slowly and clearly savouring every mouthful of the treat. Once he had finished, Hawkeye offered the tin in Daniel's direction.

"Want one?"

Daniel shook his head, before catching himself and answering out loud.

"No thanks. We're nearly home. I've got some stew ready to heat up, if you want."

"Sounds good."

The conversation lapsed and Daniel glanced over at his son again. His sightless eyes were fixed straight ahead, peering out the windshield at the darkness that he would never see again. Five minutes later, the headlamps picked out the sign for Crabapple Cove and Daniel slowed, turning off the main street on to their road. Right at the end of the street, shielded from the winter winds by a stand of old pines trees, was the blue clapboard house that had been the Pierce family home for close on ninety years. Daniel pulled into the driveway and switched off the car engine.

The silence grew for a moment.

Hawkeye slowly opened the car door and got out, taking a couple of steps towards the house, trailing his hand carefully along the side of the car. Still sitting in the driver's seat, Daniel allowed himself to imagine a different kind of homecoming for his son, one full of light and brightness and happiness. Hawkeye was silhouetted against the streetlamp and all Daniel could see of him was his dark hair, black against an even blacker sky, and the cut of his shoulders, rising and falling sharply as his son sighed into the darkness.

Daniel watched his son's shoulders rise and fall again, and his hand come up to his face, and all of a sudden he realised Hawkeye wasn't just sighing. Daniel got out of the car and in four quick steps had his arm aound Hawkeye as his son cried desperate, dry sobs into his chest.

They stood there for a long moment, the trees creaking in the wind and the distant smell of salt air permeating the darkness.

"Dad," Hawkeye whispered hoarsely. "Can you make this stop? Please? Please."

Daniel brushed hastily at his own eyes and cleared his throat. He remembered comforting the same distraught little boy on this driveway once before, after his mother's funeral some fifteen years ago. That had been the moment that Hawkeye had really understood what had happened to his mother. There was something about coming home that made the missing pieces stand out so starkly.

Daniel couldn't answer his son's question then and he could not answer it now. Instead, he wordlessly took Hawkeye by the hand and led him into the house. Just like the last time, it would take love, comfort and laughter to bring Hawkeye home.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawkeye woke the next morning after a fitful sleep. He lay in bed with the covers pulled tightly around him to stave off the cold morning air and listened hard. He could hear birds outside, and the endless soothing murmur of the wind in the trees behind the house. He could also hear the faint noise of the radio, and his father pottering around downstairs.

The smell of coffee began to percolate through the house and Hawkeye's stomach was beginning to demand breakfast. He slowly got out of bed and felt for his duffle bag at the end of the bed. He pulled out some of the contents and began to rummage through them, stopping when he felt the tattered fabric of his old red dressing gown. He pulled it on and wrapped it tightly around himself, and found his slippers where he'd left them, carefully tucked under the edge of the bed. His fingers found the smooth handle of his cane by the bedside table and, by memory and by touch, he made his way to the door of the room.

Hawkeye realised he was noticing familiar things around him in stark detail, despite the fact that he couldn't see any of them. On his way out of the bedroom, his fingertips caught the edge of his bookcase and he paused, running a finger over the spine of a book, feeling the layer of dust that coated the leather. He traced the embossed title but couldn't decipher the words by touch. On his last day in Tokyo, one of the doctors had discussed the possibility of him learning Braille, and had used a special typewriter to type out the alphabet and some phrases on a thick sheet of card. The card was somewhere in his duffle bag now, and he turned around and found the bag again, pulling the card from the side pocket.

It was a little crumpled after the flight, but the raised dots were still legible.

.  .   . .  .  .. .   
..    ..     .  .  .  
       . .     ..   

_Hawkeye_.

His heart did a funny sort of victory dance in his chest as his finger successfully picked out the letters. He tucked the piece of card away at the end of the bookshelf to properly flatten it out and made his way downstairs.

He was pleased that his feet lead him to the kitchen almost faultlessly, faltering only for a moment in the living room when he encountered a rug on the floor that hadn't been there when he left for Korea. His father had clearly heard him coming and greeted him in his usual buoyant manner.

"Good morning. Would you like coffee?"

"Hi Dad. Yes, please." Hawkeye leaned against the doorframe and listened to the clink of the mugs and the hot, dark sound of the coffee being poured. He held out a hand and Daniel passed a mug to him.

They drank in silence, neither wanting to disturb the fragile morning peace. Eventually, Daniel spoke.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Hawkeye pondered for a moment. "I'm ok." He paused, then went on, suddenly not wanting, not able to stop the words. "Well... the ok-ness, it comes and goes. The--" he jerked a finger towards his eyes and forced himself to say it, "--the _blindness_ , it's confusing and it's terrifying, and yet this morning I smiled because I remembered how to read my own name in Braille. I spent an hour last night listening to an owl in the tree behind the house and it was like I was sitting on the branch next to him. I'm... I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm never gonna see you again, Dad. But it's going to give me the chance to get to know you in so many other ways." Hawkeye forced a weak smile in his father's direction. "I'm getting through it."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Hawkeye wished he could see his father's face and try to work out what he was thinking.

"French toast for breakfast?"

Ah. "That would be nice, thanks."

-0-

After breakfast, Hawkeye showered, enjoying the luxurious combination of properly hot water and non-Army issue soap that actually made a real lather. He had some difficulty combing his hair flat afterwards, as he found it hard to tell by touch whether any of it was still sticking up. Shaving was a little easier, even though he ended up doing it twice to catch the bits he missed the first time round. Getting dressed presented another issue; although Hawkeye was no great follower of fashion, he did like to colour coordinate, but he had no way of telling which of his shirts and sweaters in the closet were which. He decided that he would have to come up with some kind of system-- maybe sew a different shaped button to the labels of different coloured items-- but for now he just picked out one of his oldest and most comfortable shirts and paired it with his thick cable knit sweater and jeans.

He made his way back downstairs, his cane tapping against some kind of wooden box in the hallway for the second time that day. This time Hawkeye stopped, bent down and ran a hand over it, realising as he did so that it was his footlocker. He picked it up and brought it into the living room, feeling his way towards the sofa and putting the footlocker down in front of it. Then, he went back upstairs to fetch the keys from his duffle bag and finally returned to the living room, sitting down on the sofa to open it.

His dad, having washed and dressed too, joined Hawkeye on the sofa. Hawkeye could hear rustling as his dad turned the pages of the newspaper, but this was quickly discarded, clearly in favour of watching Hawkeye unpack his things.

The contents of the footlocker was a complete jumble of trivial and important items. Hawkeye found the bundle of letters he'd received from his father while he'd been in Korea, the duck whistle that Klinger had given him all those weeks ago, and the martini glass that BJ had helped him wrap up in three old socks to protect it for the journey home. Amongst these more precious items were a raggy old t-shirt, a key to the supply tent at the 4077 and a broken souvenir fan that Hawkeye had picked up once in Seoul.

There was one item, however, that Hawkeye couldn't identify. It was a small package, wrapped carefully in what felt like brown paper, with a letter attached. Hawkeye peeled off the letter and opened the envelope, but of course, he couldn't read whatever was written on the single sheet of paper. He passed it over to his father, who chuckled, then read it aloud.

"Dear Captain Pierce,

We know how much happy hour means to you and wanted to make sure you'd always be on time for it. Turns out that you can get almost anything delivered here by mail-order if you have the right catalogue and some connections in Supply.

Hope you don't mind us opening your locker-- Captain Hunnicut gave us the key (and we weren't supposed to tell you he had one)!

Take care of yourself.

From,

Klinger & Radar."

Hawkeye tore open the paper to find a small, velvet covered box inside, like the kind that fancy jewellery came in. He opened it and his fingers brushed across cold glass, metal and smooth leather.

It was a watch.

Hawkeye was confused, until his probing fingers found the hinge on one side of the large watch face. He opened the glass and tentatively ran his fingers over the exposed face. There were tiny dots pinpointing where each hour lay and the hands were robust and easy to feel. He held the watch up to his ear and listened to the delicate tick and whirr of the mechanism. He was touched to the heart by the generosity and thoughtfulness of the gift.

"What's the time, Dad?"

"Coming up on quarter after ten."

Hawkeye set the correct time on the watch-- it had been showing quarter past twelve, the current time in Korea, he realised. Midnight on a Saturday. No point in calling; it would take hours to get through, and the whole camp was probably dancing the night away in the officer's club right now, if they weren't dealing with casualties.

"Can you get a pen and paper? I want to write back."


End file.
